Things started getting very difficult for me when I started questioning my mind. I wondered if everyone else felt as depressed and unhappy in life as I did. I seriously doubted all of my happy-go-lucky friends could feel like I did, and still smile and goof around all day.
Life started to wear me down, and I started dealing with long spells of deep depression, and I had no idea how to handle it. My family situation was still rough, and I felt like my friends were mostly superficial and fake. I had had a very hard time with a boy who I yo-yo dated in middle school and high school. I had never dealt with a guy who tried so hard to make me jealous, and my emotions were easily pulled down. The guy I had seen off and on insisted on dating my close friends when we were not together, and loved making moves on them behind my back when we were together. I took it to heart, and felt like there must have been something wrong with me if he felt the need to act like that.
I was always blaming myself for everything, and I felt like people always treated me the way they did because of something I had done. I held everything in because I didn’t feel like I had anyone to share with, or knew anyone who could relate to my problems. I started feeling like I couldn’t handle things anymore, and that’s when I started to cut.
I don’t know why I thought that cutting was the answer, but at the time, I felt like it was a necessary release. I could beat myself up emotionally, but if I cut myself, I could really feel the pain. I think I was so fazed and numbed by life at that point, and it felt like the only way I could connect to something. It didn’t really make sense then, and I think back to it now, I wonder what I was thinking.
Cutting myself didn’t solve any of my problems. In retrospect, I think it made things harder for me. It was just one more hurdle to get over. Cutting didn’t fix the problems I had, or help my emotional pain go away, it didn’t solve anything. If anything, it made me feel worse about myself. It was a bad idea then, and I recommend it to no one, your body is important, you only get one, so you better take care of it. You can’t let people get to you; you can’t let life get to you.
So many people turn to self-abuse like it is a cure, but in reality it only makes the disease worse. You don’t feel any better about yourself, and it eventually makes you feel more depressed.
One of the boys I grew up with was teased like crazy for being different. He once told me he started cutting himself because it made him feel something other than rejection. It wasn’t a good way for him to deal with things, and I didn’t know it then, but his adventures in self-mutilation eventually lead to his suicide. When I learned about his death, I started to really reconsider the way I was harming myself. I didn’t want to die. Sure I had dealt with some very depressing times, but I still had hope that better things were in my future. I immediately stopped cutting myself, and never picked up a blade again.
I wish I could say that was the end of me causing damage to myself, but my adventures in substances were just starting, and I had many miles on the road of addiction. I wish I could have told myself that taking it out on my body was a bad idea, but I had to learn that the hard way.
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I Am Not Defined 